The problem with his plan, Possum had since learned, was that Smoke kept the prize money to himself. He gave cash to his dogs as needed and wouldn't allow them to accumulate any on their own. Possum got plenty to eat and all the alcohol and pot he wanted. He wore nice basketball shoes and huge jeans that were always falling off. He was equipped with a pager, a cell phone, a handheld Global Positioning System, a gun, and his own room in the RV. But he had no savings and it was likely he never would. He thought about this as his face stung and the inside of his lip bled. Possum missed his mama and realized that Smoke was even worse than Possum's daddy.
"You can't be killing him right now," Possum tried to reason with Smoke. "It's better we wait and make the Big Move. Then we can blow away all them motherfuckers at once, including Popeye."
Smoke turned back onto Huguenot Road and sped off. "Don't worry, I ain't taking Brazil out tonight in front of all these people. But I'm going to get him bad when the time's right-just like I'm gonna get that bitch Hammer. Hey. Maybe I'll feed her fucking dog to a pit bull and leave the carcass in her yard."
"You do that, you ain't got nothing to fuck with her about no more," Possum said with feigned nonchalance. "That dog the biggest prize you got, Smoke. You know that lady cop do anything to get that dumb dog back, right? So you gotta play your cards and be patience. Maybe you could use that dog to get Hammer and Brazil at the same time. What you wanna bet Brazil knew Pop-eye and don't like it none, either, that the dog disappeared, huh?"
"Yeah. I'll set both of them up. Fucking yeah. At the same time!" Smoke tried to follow the helicopter that was fast moving out of sight toward the lit-up city skyline. "Then we'll take them to the clubhouse," as he referred to their RV, "and I'll have a shitload of time to really make them hurt bad before I blow their brains out and throw their fucking bodies in the river."
The road dogs knew that Smoke's specialty as a child was to bury rabbits and chipmunks alive, jump on frogs, trap birds and throw them out windows, and do other unspeakable things to helpless creatures. It wasn't lost on Possum that Smoke had christened each of his road dogs with an animal's name, as if to imply what he would do to them if they ever got out of line.
"Yeah, set 'em up." Possum pretended to sound mean-spirited and tough. "And maybe kill some other people, too," he added. "And maybe tell Cap'n Bonny we ain't paying him nothing and he tries to mess with us, we shoot him and throw him in the river, too."
"Shut up." Smoke smacked Possum on the ear. "I gotta find out where they park that helicopter, then we're gonna take it. Maybe hot-wire it."
"You don't got to hot-wire it," Possum dared to offer as his ear rang with pain. "I seen something 'bout them on the Discovery Channel. All you do is push a button, they start right up. Then you lift this little handle and steer with a stick."
"Driving a helicopter ain't the same as driving a truck." Cat broke his silence. "I don't know if we could pull it off."
"Find out where the state police airport is," Smoke ordered his road dogs. "Look it up on the GPS."
Unique didn't need a GPS to find her way around, nor did she have one. Smoke did not supply her with special weapons and equipment, although she could get anything she wanted from him, if needed. But Unique had her own special techniques that radiated from her Darkness where the Nazi dwelled deep inside her soul. As she drove her Miata along Strawberry Street, she felt weightless and airborne. She was flying through the night, her long hair streaming behind her and the wind cool on her delicately pretty face. She parked a block from the blond undercover cop's row house, not having a clue that he was Andy Brazil-the very cop that Smoke had just been talking about.
Unique had not known Smoke back in the days when Andy and Hammer had arrested him, and therefore she had never seen or met either one of them, to her knowledge. Were Unique not controlled by evil, it might have seemed a remarkable coincidence that she was stalking not only Smoke's enemy, but also Trooper Truth, and had no clue. But in fact, nothing that happened in Unique's life was coincidental or accidental. She was guided by her Purpose, which had directed her to leave the trash bag on the undercover cop's porch and tape an envelope to his front door.
Twelve
Overlooking the city from the top of one of Richmond's seven hills was a historic row house that Judy Hammer had taken great pains to restore and furnish impeccably. She was paying bills at her antique rolltop desk, the lights of the city spread out beyond the window in a comforting circuitry that reminded her she had a tremendous responsibility to Virginians and had become a role model to women throughout the nation.
All the same, it was no easy matter finding eligible men when one is creeping closer to sixty and carries a gun in her Ferragamo handbag. Hammer was feeling lonely and discouraged and had been terribly unnerved by seeing the photograph of Popeye on the website. It had also been another bad day in the news. A woman was suing McDonald's for allegedly having been burned by a pickle from an improperly constructed hamburger. Then a legally blind man and his brother tried to burglarize an apartment, and the pair made the tactical error of deciding the blind brother would be the lookout. Not to mention the people who were getting blood clots from flying coach and the local police who were dredging the James River again for guns, since most suspects claimed they tossed their weapons off bridges after committing their crimes.
Hammer was a little surprised that she hadn't heard from Andy by now. She worried that the silence might indicate a failed connection with the governor. Perhaps he and Macovich had been unable to make contact, or if they had, the results were not helpful. Just as these thoughts were making the rounds in her mind, the telephone rang.
"Yes," she answered curtly, as if she hated for anyone to bother her.
"Superintendent Hammer?" Andy's voice traveled over the line.
"What is it, Andy?" Hammer said.
He was driving east on Broad Street, where surly teenagers lingered on corners and in front of boarded-up buildings, glaring at the unmarked car with all of its antennas and hidden blue lights.
"I'm not too far from Church Hill," Andy said as he kept up his scan of shifty-looking people. "If it's not inconvenient," he bravely pushed ahead, "maybe I should drop by and tell you what's going on."
"Fine," Hammer said and hung up without saying good-bye.
Hammer did not have the genetic coding to tolerate a waste of time, and as she got older, her resentment of remote communication intensified. She could not abide the clangor of the phone when someone entered her airspace uninvited. She loathed voice mail and played it as quickly as she could before deleting it from her life, usually long before the message ended. Two-way radios were a nuisance and so was e-mail-especially instant messages from buddies she did not choose, who barged right into her cyberspace without being invited. Hammer just wanted quiet. At this stage in her life's journey, people were beginning to make her tired and she was noticing how rarely communication relayed anything that mattered.
"Tell me what's going on," Hammer said when Andy was scarcely inside the front door, "Did you mention to the governor that Tangier Island is holding a dentist hostage and has declared war on Virginia because of the damn speed traps and NASCAR and possible dental fraud?"
"I didn't get a chance," Andy reluctantly admitted as he settled on the sofa. "I don't think he recognizes anyone visually, either. He thought I was military and had no idea who Macovich is. I'm just wondering if that's the root of his problem, Superintendent Hammer. Maybe he's legally blind and hasn't seen you since you were sworn in because he never saw you to begin with."